


Spare Time

by Arithanas



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Javert's Confused Boner, Javert's cudgel, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, character studio, hamfisted metaphor, hand free orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Because Javert must have a reason to enjoy his snuff once in a while, why not in his spare time?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).



The small room reflected its owner to the last detail. Those walls were always damp, offering shelter only nominally, for they were constantly licked by the constant breeze of Montreuil-sur-Mer. Against the north wall the promise of rest was presented by a rackety cot with its set of dirty blankets. A small table with a candlestick completed the decoration of the room.

This austere man never needed more and Spartan decor surpassed his wishes because he kept those walls not for the comfort they could provide but for the way they keep prying eyes from his person.

Javert took of his hat and passed his big hand over his narrow forehead, easing the perpetual frown to no effect. His tin lips let out the sigh of a worker returning from a trying day, but the sound was short as if it was forcibly halt by the throat that dared to issue it.

With mechanical precision, the hat was hung on a bare nail on the wall. The coat followed suit and Javert flattened the creases unthinkingly. The observant witness could notice that his mind was still on the baths, on the prisoners…

His hand found his cane in the interior pocket of his coat. The weight and the roundness were pleasurable and his fingers wrapped around its cylindrical form. God in Heaven hasn’t seen a faintest smile since the day this world saw the first dawn.

With reverence, Javert took the sign of his position from the folds of his dark coat. The fingertip of his right hand ran over its polished surface, stopping just short its rounded end. This was the symbol of his power over men in chains granted over him by the law.

Shivers raked Javert spine and allow his left hand to grip hard its base and tapped the rounded end on his open palm. Power this vast was intoxicating and memories of his hand driving down the cudgel, and the law it represented, on the unsuspecting backs, ribs, and legs of those who slacked the work forced on them as reparation for their sins.

Disgusting idlers, unrepentant felons, and unashamed lollygaggers who were too weak to take their due punishment, but they never saved their breath and spare Javert’s ears from the colorful ditties and remarks about their longing desire for a tart. Their sordid lust was enough to make Javert want to crush their ribs to fine dust…

And then, oh then…

That young man blushing today, casting his eyes down and willing his ears to hinder those dishonest words from his spirit that his back was shaking badly, caught Javert’s eye and that was enough to stop his hand this time. That kind of virtue was to be rewarded within the boundaries of his duty.

Javert drew breath and the rasping, gasping sound betrayed his disquiet. To find virtue among attached to a chain of forced labor was to find a rare flower blossoming from the filth: It was not impossible, but a rare enough event to be treasured.

And, as the solid end of his cudgel rhythmically struck his open palm, Javert did more than that: he found his spirit in a state of exalted ravenousness. Far from him the idea of cherish that virtue when the discomfort of his selfish flesh, stirring under his clothes, demanded him to lean on that decency to its very end until it was shattered…

Under Javert’s hands and weight…

At Javert’s will…

Another gasp escaped his eyes, as his mind invented that Number 24,601’s as he turned his eyes, helpless among frightening waves of immodest fever that crushing against his righteous hesitation at the man who wielded the club at him.

Javert was panting when he saw with his spirit how his head nodded a faint acquiescence to his captor’s will without a trace of resignation, without any show of shameful haste…

The cot creaked. Javert’s backside sunk on the flimsy mattress. The butt of the cudgel dug on his hip and absentmindedly, Javert’s half closed fist ran from the tip to the straps.

Javert gulped. His hand caressed the club upwards until his palm rested on the rounded trip. His mind was oblivious to any sort of law ―human or divine― that could prevent him from destroying those little signs that betrayed something else.

The hand ran down again, but Javert felt not his polished coat of pine resine.

A man lack of experience is something that has never spoken between men of good breeding and standing position in society, and certainly, was unheard off in the galleys. There was no man among those of red cassock that could call themselves “untouched” and yet this one, who made a great show of prissiness, showed all the signs of a virgin body and a pure soul.

The rubbing motion on the cane increased when Javert entertaining the idea of Number 24,601 bent over at the waist, moaning and grunting, with his hole struggling to accommodate the length of that very same cane. Javert eyes, fixed on the cold wall, with the lids half closed, reveled in greatly the contrast of the red cassock and the pale rear showing him the sore, crimson rim enlarged and welcoming as Number 24,601 begged him to ease his agony.

Thin lips fluttered over a mouth that was leaving out small puffs of frenzied breath. The hand picked up the speed as Number 24,601’s voice begged for Javert’s cock in his virgin hole.

The smile was genuine and short lived as Javert heard his own voice, calm and unruffled, denying Number 24,601 the efforts and rewards of his hard cock. Prisoners shouldn’t benefit from any gratification provided by those who watch them. At least not at that moment, no when Javert could profit from Number 24,601’s virgin body for a bit more for his own delectation.

Javert took a deep breath so deep that his shirt felt unbearably fit to his ribs and his lust became sated with a couple of faint jolts below his waist that he barely felt as his eyes closed to enjoy better the disappointed noises that tumbled from Number 24,601’s mouth.

The breathe leaving his body carried out the last ebbing tremors. The disquiet in his pants had ceased and Javert picked up his club, hot to the touch and placed it in his small table with the respect that any upstanding man should provide to the tools of his trade.

Then, pleased with himself and his place in the world, he allowed himself to enjoy a pinch of snuff before he lay in the bed to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> One can't expect Javert to uphold the law in his spare time, can one?
> 
> (Sorry if this one is a bit tame)


End file.
